En Anem Mon Daeus
by Rivers Hiead
Summary: Another beginning fic, centred on Scott. Will have to leave this story for a while.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note:_ This is my first piece of fan fiction. Despite being an avid reader of the comic books, this is a largely AU piece of fiction. It is my version of Scott's life up to and including the movies. Many of the staples of his past are still present, though. I have just always had a different image of him in my mind. Please take no offence.

_Disclaimer:_ All recognizable characters are the property of Marvel Comics and Fox Entertainment. No plagiarism is intended.

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_**Examination at the Womb-Door:**_

**Who owns these scrawny little feet? _Death._**

**Who owns this bristly scorched-looking face? _Death._**

**Who owns these still-working lungs? _Death._**

**Who owns this utility coat of muscles? _Death._**

**Who owns these unspeakable guts? _Death._**

**Who owns these questionable brains? _Death._**

**All this messy blood? _Death._**

**These minimum-efficiency eyes? _Death._**

**This wicked little tongue? _Death._**

**This occasional wakefulness? _Death._**

**Given, stolen, or held pending trial?**

_**Held.**_

**Who owns the whole rainy, stony earth? _Death._**

**Who owns all of space? _Death._**

**Who is stronger than hope? _Death._**

**Who is stronger than the will? _Death._**

**Stronger than love? _Death._**

**Stronger than life? _Death._**

**But who is stronger than death?**

_**Me, evidently.**_

**Pass, Crow.**

****

**_Ted Hughes._**

__

__

_**En Anem Mon Daeus:**_

Chapter One:

Darkness. It has always been his greatest fear, from the days when he could not sleep without the bedroom light on and the door a-jar, to a day like this one when even on an uncommonly hot day no rays of life-giving light can penetrate the darkness. He can feel the scorching New York summer sun striking his bare arms and exposed neck, where the over-stretched collar of his worn T-shirt offers no resistance. He can hear the buzz of the park occupants enjoying the amenities, the squeaky wheel of a bicycle circling somewhere nearby.

Footsteps approach the bench upon which he sits, accompanied by something on wheels, motorised, if he is hearing correctly. Must be a scooter or wheelchair. He sits still, hoping they'll pass him by if he remains inconspicuous. The seventeen year olds nervousness at his choice of eye-wear returns as it has on many occasions. He had wrapped a thick piece of what he hoped was black cloth around his eyes, tying it in away that reminded him of the blind ninja in _Mortal Kombat_, a game he used to frequent at any number of arcades. It gave a much needed sense of un-reality to his current situation, allowing him to detach as if it was just another one of his role-playing games.

His hopes were dissolved as he felt a presence looming over him. He ran through scenarios, wondering if these were members of authority, curious passers-by or looking to cause trouble. The majority focused on the latter, if experience is anything to go by.

He felt a strange sensation in his frontal lobe that seemed familiar, though his mind couldn't place why. This makes him tense further, as few people from his past were anything pleasant.

"Good afternoon, Scott. My name is Charles Xavier." The voice came from a place roughly level and to the left of Scott, a soft British accent. The other presence remained on the right, caging him, though how effective he could run blind was open to debate. The mention of his name made him curious. He had gone by other aliases, and had used that one none-to recently. Scott remained silent.

"I gather the best way to reach you is through bluntness, and so I'll make my point. I am aware of your powers, your mutantcy, to coin the word." Scott stilled his breathing, listening intently for any movement from the right, figuring that that was the mostly likely origin of an attack. So far, the only sound from the unknown person was a sigh of impatience and a slight rustling.

"You have no need to worry, Scott. Myself and Warren, here, are also mutants." Though his face remained impassive, Scott began to turn more of his attention on the voice, the now-named companion seeming less of a threat in light of this revelation. A brief pause. "I fear this is not the time nor place to discuss matters. Please come with me. I have a house in Westchester county, where you will be safe."

Did this man want sexual favours? Why else would he invite a stranger to his home, which, if Scott had his bearings correct, was quite far? But if that was the case, why would he mention his mutantcy, and how would he know of Scott's? Not to mention most men wouldn't bring a prostitute home. Scott had yet to sink to that level of desperation, despite his years on the streets. The experience with his step-father was enough.

"No, Mr. Summers." The voice took on a sharp edge. "There will be none of that. My home is a refuge for mutants, or at least it will be. As to how to get there, I have a private plane. I am a telepath." Scott began to rise. "You were projecting, Scott. I never read a persons mind without their express permission or under dire circumstances. I believe you know what I mean by the word 'projecting'." This man knew a disturbing amount. A few moments of silence passed.

"I don't think he's going to come, Professor." The voice took on a hopeful lilt, obviously eager to be on his way.

"Now, Warren, give the boy a chance," Charles' tone was the epitome of amused patience.

Weighing the pros and cons, and deciding that things couldn't be much worse than what they were now, Scott decided to take a chance. Feeling it the polite thing to do, Scott extended his hand in Charles' general direction, which was warmly clasped and shook. When turned to Warren, it was used to help the blind boy to his feet, and then squeezed.

"Warren Worthington, the third," the confident voice didn't sound much older than Scott's. Warren's hand moved to his shoulder, ignoring Scott's flinch, and proceeded to guide him to the private plane, which Charles informed him he had christened the _Blackbird_.

* * *

Jean Grey pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose for the umpteenth time as she gazed down at the medical journal on her lap. She sat in one of the leather arm chairs that dotted the professor's office, wondering again how something so expensive could be so uncomfortable.

She had been waiting little over an hour for the Professor and Warren to return with hopefully the newest member of the household, finally one her own age. So far it was just Warren, Hank, and herself. A bit of childish excitement at the prospect of a new face had kept her in her seat. When footsteps approached from down the hall, she removed her glasses, snapped the book shut- forgetting to mark the page- and held it in her lap, gazing at the door expectantly.

Warren entered first, holding the arm of a slim young man whom he led to the chair near Jean's. The Professor followed, positioning himself at his large oak desk.

"Jean Grey, this is Scott Summers." Scott hadn't been aware of another presence in the room.

"Pleased to meet you, Scott," Jean's tone was friendly, inviting, coming from his left. He turned slightly.

"Hello," which was the first word he had spoken in any number of days, causing his voice to come out a little hoarse. Scott had always made a practise of silence.

Jean studied him. After looking away from the cloth covering his eyes, she was struck by his face. Hair dishevelled, torn clothes, but still he was one of the most beautiful people she had ever seen. His back was straight and tense, arms on his thighs, hands curled into fists out of what she felt was nervousness. Despite his blank expression, it came roiling off him in waves.

"Our other resident, Henry, wished to express his regret at not being here to greet you, but he had to attend to some rather urgent business," Xavier leaned forward on his desk. "I would like to welcome you to _Xavier's School For Gifted Children._"

* * *

Warren had shown him to his room. He had been asked to choose one, a pretty pointless question, he thought. But old habits die hard, like dealing with someone who can't see the rooms to choose. In the end he asked for any room with a single bed with crawl space underneath. Warren had helped him push the bed up to the corner of a wall, and then had left.

Ten minutes of stumbling had revealed a desk facing the window, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf lining an entire wall. Having no personal belongings baring the clothes on his back, there was nothing left for him to do but sit on the edge of his bed, having quickly memorised the distance of the sparse objects.

Scott felt overwhelmed. He had gone from living on the streets to living in a mansion in the country in mere hours. The professor had assured him money was not a problem. It all seemed too good to be true. He was still waiting for the drop.

Thinking back on all his acquaintances on the streets, he was strangely glad to realise none of them would realise he was gone. There were some good things about being invisible. It meant few of the people he had screwed over would have the will or the means to find him, if they even realised it was the reticent, unassuming boy who had grifted them.

A quiet knock on the door, three taps.

"Enter," Scott called, feeling slightly put out. How long had it been since someone asked permission from him for anything?

The door opened, and Jean entered, closing it behind her. She nervously leaned her back against it.

"It's Jean," she had just remembered he couldn't see her. Scott bowed his head in acknowledgement. "Um, I'm going into town. The professor said I should get you some clothes." She quickly added, "Don't worry. I'm not paying for them. I just thought I'd ask what you like, though I guess it doesn't really matter, since you can't see them. I mean, sorry, you _will_ be able to see them, I hope, since Hank and I are working on something to control your powers, though we still don't know _specifically_ what you're able to do, apart from it's some kind of energy beam…"

"You mean I might be able to control it?" It had taken a moment for that to sink in as he listened to her. Deciding it might be a good idea to help put her at ease, he invited her to sit down. Jean stood uncertainly for a moment before sitting on the bed, so he would at least know where she was.

"We're working on something that might be able to control them, but we still need to run some tests to find out what kind of energy it is, where is the source, the capacity. Things like that."

"You and Hank?"

"You'll meet him eventually."

"Hm. May I ask what your- ability- is?"

"I have two actually. I'm a telekinetic, and a low level telepath."

"So it comes in levels?" she laughed softly, not expecting the question.

"Something like that. I'm no where near the level of the Professor, and it's not completely under my control. I have no idea if it will mutate further or if this is it's full potential."

"I see. Do you like puns?"

"What? No, Not really. Were you making one?"

"Good. I hate puns. No, I just have a habit of saying that, you know, 'cause of Cartman?" The conversation had taken a strange turn. "Sorry. I tend to ask strange things when I'm nervous."

"I ramble, so questions give me more options." A pause. "So what kind of clothes? I'll only get a few days worth, since hopefully you'll be able to pick them out yourself."

"Anything loose. I don't like things that cling." A sigh. "Damn, this is strange." Scott ran a hand through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck.

"Okay. Though clichés are derogatory, are you preppy, sporty, what?"

"Uh, I'm more a geek kinda guy. Magic the Gathering, computer nerd…"

"Do you know the real meaning of the word 'geek'?" Jean was beginning to relax around him. She liked his soft voice, a pleasant monotone - an unusual combination. He was unassuming, and the perfect pronunciation of the words and rounded '_p'_s implied intelligence.

"The 'boring and unattractive social misfit' or the 'degenerate' definition?" His facial expression had yet to change.

"I meant the 'a person who is preoccupied or very knowledgeable about computing' one," she couldn't keep the smile out of her voice.

"I see. Knew I forgot one."

"Like any labels, colours? You've barely given me anything to go on." Scott cracked his knuckles anxiously.

"Sorry."

"Bone cracking doesn't bother me. It's just air bubbles in the sinovial of the joints popping." He nodded slowly.

"Look, I don't really feel comfortable asking you to do something."

"I don't mind. Besides, I'd rather get something you like."

"Nothing conspicuous. I don't really like logos or anything, unless it's a band shirt or something. I don't know. I like grey."

"Ooh, what bands you like? Or would you not really have been able to listen to music, you know, where you were?" Xavier had told her the bare bones of what he knew about Scott, but she did know he lived on the streets, though from the way he spoke he grew up in an everyday middle class family chocked high with typical mendacity.

"I found a way. Weezer and Wheatus. Thou?"

"Smashing Pumpkins and Biffy Clyro."

"You've heard Biffy? I didn't know the Scottish band had made it this far."

"And how did you here of them?"

"Nyeh," Scott shrugged. Jean looked at her watch.

"I best be going soon. Do you like to read? The Professor had been looking for you for a while, so he's got some books in brail, if you can read that."

"I love reading, and I understand brail."

"They're mostly classics. I'll get them for you."

"Thank you."

* * *

Scott was sitting cross-legged on the floor reading Dostoyevsky's _Crime and Punishment_, fingers running with practised ease over the bumps on the pages. It was a favourite of his, the character Raskolnikov getting him each time. The scenes where Raskolnikov simply laid on his couch in that cupboard of a room, Scott always imagined curled in a loose foetal position, facing inwards. Ever since he read the book last year, Scott always tried to position his bed as close as possible to the image in his mind, even going so far as to lay in the imagined position every night. Always right side, never left. Blanket covering ear to keep parasites out. Wouldn't want a repeat of that _X-Files_ episode.

Jean. He liked her, which he never did on a first meeting. She spoke to him like a human being, without any hidden agenda. She was the first person to ever ask him questions about himself, superficial though they were, and actually be interested in the answers he gave, rather than how it could control him, suit their purposes. Anything you say can and will be used against you. She seemed an exception to the rule.

Hold on. Scott sat up straight. He had known her all of ten minutes and already he felt the beginnings of trust. It wasn't the kind of trust where you could divulge your darkest secret - he had never trusted someone so completely - rather, it was the kind where you could relax and let drop the pretence you're wearing without fear of reprisals. He wondered if what she said about being a low level telepath was true, if she wasn't in fact manipulating him, and found he didn't much care. Maybe that, too, was part of the manipulation.

A quiet knock on the door, three taps.

"Enter."

Scott heard what he thought were Jean's footsteps, and the noise of paper bags being rearranged.

"Hey," she sounded slightly breathless, and Scott found himself wondering for the first time what she really looked like. Having spent the last eighteen months blind, Scott had learned that wishing to know the face of whom you spoke to was a painful exercise, and he generally pictured them all as featureless Sims, androgynous. It was less complicated. Thinking of a face that matched the voice caused a stab of pain in his chest.

"I got two plain t-shirts, one grey, one yellow," Jean sensed a shift in Scott's emotions, but one which she was unable to place. "One orange chequered long-sleeved shirt, a pair of_ loose_ jeans, and a pair of brown cords. I can go into more detail. Make sure you know exactly what you're wearing."

"That's fine, thanks. Why yellow?"

"I think it would suit you."

"I see. I normally like yellow as a pen or ruler, but t-shirts fine. Thank you."

"There's also a black hoodie, though it's summer. Xavier mentioned something about you coming from somewhere hot, so my idea of summer might be cold to you. Oh, and no offence, but your shoes are kinda shot to hell, so I got a pair of those, too. Nice red converse. Nothing noticeable." Still no reaction. "I also got you underwear." Damn, not even a flicker. "They've got Goofie patterns on them. I thought they looked cute." This guy was impenetrable.

"Thank you. Goofie kicks ass. The only worthwhile character Disney ever made."

_Author's Note:_ Yes, I'm afraid that's my idea of humour. There will be adventures and bad guys and a heavy dose of comic-y mayhem, I assure you, but mostly it will be like that, so I felt I should warn you. My reason for this is I want to get across how I see Scott. The team one supports doesn't define a person. The fact that s/he likes to watch their favourite movie backwards and claims the best gift they ever received was the pock-marked rock with 'moon rock' and a badly drawn shooting star on its face. You get the picture. Thank you for reading.


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note:_ Thank you for reviewing. To answer a few questions, anyone read the origin of the X-Men story? That picture of Scott focusing his optic blasts on his hand is the real catalyst for this story. It is very loosely based on the comics, focusing more on the movie and my idea of Scott that nobody else seems to share. To answer Victoria lily, he was an athlete in the comics. I don't know, I just always saw him as geeky. Spitze, the answer to the poem and name will be revealed in due course. Thanks again. To Lady Lestat, that is precisely what I am trying to do, as the way he was portrayed in the movie (or lack thereof) irked a little bit. If I can get any of that across, my purpose is served. Thank you, Diaz F and CykePhoenixSummers.

_Disclaimer:_ All recognisable characters are the property of Marvel Comics and Fox Entertainment. No plagiarism is intended.

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_**The Guide:**_

**When everything that can fall has fallen**

**Something rises,**

**And leaving here, and evading there**

**And that, and this, is my headway.**

**Where the snow glare blinded you**

**I start.**

**Where the snow mama cuddled you warm**

**I fly up. I lift you.**

**Tumbling worlds**

**Open my way**

**And you cling.**

**And we go**

**Into the wind. The flame-wind - a red wind**

**And a black wind. The red wind comes**

**To empty you. And the black wind, the longest wind**

**The headwind**

**To scour you.**

**Then the non-wind, a least breath,**

**Fills you from easy sources.**

**I am the needle**

**Magnetic**

**A tremor**

**The searcher**

**The finder**

**_Ted Hughes._**

Chapter Two:

Scott had been at the mansion for four days now, and so far there had been no nasty surprises. There had, however, been numerous tests and questions. It was soon discerned that the source of Scott's power was solar energy, and after many jokes with Ms. Jean Grey about being autotrophic and a primary consumer, they got down to the real business of control, the omnipotent word that rules Scott's world.

On the second day he met Henry P. McCoy - or Hank - an enlightening if somewhat eccentric twenty-something year old going for his sixth degree at Yale. Scott couldn't help his surprise- in the form of raised eyebrows- when he felt soft fur on the hand he shook. He felt it best not ask.

Charles Xavier had expressed an interest in Scott's education, and so he began attending classes with the only female occupant. He was relieved to learn that he was a quick study, and the Professor seemed confident that he would catch up. Scott had been called 'gifted' as a child, his mind two years ahead of his age. That and the nearest library worked in his favour.

He did have one complaint, which he never shared. Listening to the Professor or Hank read out the text book aggravated him. He knew it was the only way he could learn, but even as a child he had hated being read to. Hearing written words aloud ruined the magic of any book for Scott. Only the inflections he placed on words and voices in his mind allowed him to really lose himself. It was one of the things he hated most about being blind, being restricted from the only form of escape that had got him through everything unpleasant (to use an euphemism) in his life. While sitting quietly in a chair before his two teachers, he would silently berate himself for his self-pity.

After his first physics class since seventh grade, Scott was navigating his way down to the kitchen, making only one wrong turn into a room with what felt like two dozen computers. Finally standing by what he hoped was the kitchen counter, he was not quite sure what to do next. He could feel around the shelves and cupboard for a glass, but he was afraid he might break something. So far he had only eaten in the dining room, served.

He was still pondering his next coarse of action when he felt someone creep up to stand behind him, a slight rustling noise. He bent his knees slightly, centring his centre of balance. No one jumped on him. Instead he felt a friendly pat on the back. He had to get used to this.

"Afternoon, Scott. You seem a little lost." It was Warren. Scott hadn't 'seen' him since the first day he arrived. That rustling noise came again as Warren moved to Scott's side. "May I help?"

"Uh, I'm looking for a glass."

"Well, then you're against the wrong counter. The cupboards here only contain cereal. If you move over here," Warren took Scott's arm and led him to a different counter, then took his hand and reached it up to a corner cabinet. "You will find enough glasses for a small army. The one beside this has plates, and further over is every kind of pasta or packaged soup you can think of."

"Thanks."

"My pleasure. Here is the drinks refrigerator, the dishwasher, sink, and general fridge. Think you can manage?"

"I think so." Scott stood beside the drinks fridge holding a glass. "But could you, uh…." He rubbed the back of his neck embarrassedly. "Describe the drinks? I don't think cartons come in brail."

"Certainly." Warren gave a complete inventory of the refrigerator, then assured Scott that he would see to it the drinks weren't moved from their place.

As Scott sat down at the kitchen counter, sipping orange juice, he heard Warren pouring cereal, and again the rustling noise. His curiosity was roused.

"What's that….noise?"

""Hm? Cereal."

"Uh, no. The other one."

"Oh. The Professor hasn't told you of my mutation?" Scott shook his head in the negative. Warren sat beside him with the spoon poised above his cereal, a contemplative gesture. "I have wings."

"You mean you can fly?"

"I can soar above the clouds. Every person's dream, right?" There was a note of bitterness in his voice.

"Every dream comes with a price. May I ask what they look like?"

"The others nickname me 'Angel'."

"I see." Warren glanced at him, before eating.

"So you stay here too?"

"Most of the time. You may have heard of my family. I occasionally have to attend to its business." Scott had indeed heard of the Worthington family. He wondered how his companion's mutation had affected his family, and how it had stayed out of the news. Competing companies would have a field day with that kind of information.

Scott bid Warren goodbye and meandered up to his room, glass in hand.

* * *

On the fifth day, they made a breakthrough.

Hank McCoy - the genius that he was - had come up with the idea of glasses. Scott, who had worn glasses most of his life, had no problem with that. The chance to see was…. Words could not describe. It was something that is taken for granted until it's gone, and Scott was looking forward to its return - if it returned. Still, hope is a weakness few can avoid, especially one as viable as this.

They began experimenting with different substances. Apart from Scott's own person, few things seemed able to prevent the 'optic blasts' - as they were now termed - and all were opaque.

Finally, it was discovered that a type of quartz, if sufficiently thin, could be used as a lens. Unfortunately, another problem arose when they came to matching Scott's prescription. The lens became too thick for him to see through. They began work on the quartz itself.

Three days of rearranging the strength and density of the quartz, and Hank and Jean were confident of their success.

* * *

A quiet knock on the door, three taps.

"Enter." Scott was reclining on the bed, book absently open at his side as his mind wondered on other things. He heard Jean enter, now familiar to her knock, followed by someone heavier, with longer strides. Hank. He thought he noticed a slight bounce in her step, and her excitement was palpable, making him sit up.

"I think we've done it," her voice tried to exude calm, bit failed miserably. She then began to rattle on about the chemical composition of the quartz and how Hank and herself had to go though various processes to alter it. Just as Scott raised a hand to halt the flow, Hank graciously intervened.

"What Ms. Grey here is trying to say is: we may have found a way to subdue your optic blasts."

The room fell deadly silent for a moment as Scott digested this, chest constricting at the possibility of _sight_. He could feel the blood rushing in his ears as he dared believe.

"You mean I can see?" His voice was a chocked whisper. Even Jean remained quiet as she felt the emotions pressing on Scott, watching his shoulders seem to strain with the possibility. He had never complained, or even spoke, about his lack of sight, not directly. A few chides at himself here and there were all that showed his hatred of his disability. She had felt the weight of self-loathing almost crushing him, however, whenever he needed help navigating, the shame of being read to, of a spoon being pressed into his hand when he couldn't find it. Even the Professor seemed unaware of his discomfort, having promised not to read Scott's mind. Jean didn't need to read his mind. It was all so plainly evident in the tense shoulders, the clench of his jaw. How could no one else see?

"We're almost certain it will work. Please, come down to the Danger room. I don't believe you've been there yet." Hank's strong hand clamped down on Scott's shoulder, directing him to the door. Scott's hand clenched in a nervous fist. Jean trailed solemnly behind, lending silent support that Scott felt much more than the hand on his shoulder.

Descending into the lowest floor, Scott could feel the chill in the air, even before he reached out a hand and felt the metal of the wall. Scott clearly imagine the hospital type lighting. _Definitely no Bat Cave_.

He was stopped abruptly, and then the hiss of a door opening and a low beeping noise announced the entrance of the Danger room. He was led inside.

"This is the Danger room, Scott. You could release those beams of yours here with minimal damage," Hank's hand left his shoulder. There was a rustling noise -_ Warren_ - and someone cleared their throat - _the Professor must be here, too_. Jean took his arm and led him a little ways into the room. Scott suddenly became self-conscious.

"Okay, take of the bandage," Jean's voice came to him as if through a fog. He swallowed jerkily, reaching up a shaky hand to untie the cloth from his eyes. He quickly ducked his head, eyes squeezed tightly shut. Jean could feel his fear, and squeezed his arm comfortingly. She then released him and readied the glasses, removing them from their protective case. "I'm going to place them on your face, and then you can open your eyes." Scott swallowed convulsively again.

"Don't stand in front of me," he murmured quietly as she slid the glasses on the bridge of his nose.

"I'm safe," she backed a way a few feet, still standing in front of him, but off to the side. Scott took a deep breath, and opened his eyes.

_Author's Note:_ Thank you for reading.


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note:_ Thank you, Victoria Lily, you put a smile on my face, and if you know where the sources of my pen name come from you'd know how rare that is. Thank you Spitze, Wen1, CykePhoenixSummers and violetbear2001 for your reviews. When I refer to Stargate, it is not the television show. It is an actual theory put forward by some more eccentric Egyptologists involving the face on Mars and the Giza pyramids. Oh, and please excuse the anachronisms.

_Disclaimer:_ All recognisable characters are the property of Marvel Comics and Fox Entertainment. No plagiarism is intended.

Chapter Three:

Everything was awash in shades of red and black, mingling to form an obscure reddish-grey. His eyes focused immediately on the person in front of him, thinking whimsically that she was nothing like he imagined. Her hair was long, the colour unidentifiable due to the limits of the glasses. He found her beautiful, and wondered how someone like her had even spoken to him. He hoped things wouldn't change now that he didn't need her help to see. He enjoyed her company.

He blushed when he realised he had only been staring at her, and that she could probably read his mind. Her lips quirked in a secret smile, which only deepened his colour. He resolutely turned to look around.

The Professor was in a motorised wheel chair. Hank was covered in what appeared to be dark fur, wearing a suit. Warren - _wow_ - Warren had wings like an angel, living up to his nick name. In his vision they looked blood red, an angel of death.

He couldn't look at anything for more than a moment, there being too much to see.

Scott then took in the room around him, before smiling shamefacedly.

"Sorry, I haven't said thank you yet," his tone was one of awe as he continued to look around him. He could feel the beams massing behind his eyes, a dull throbbing pressure that he tried to ignore. He wasn't going to mention that, too grateful just to see, though he feared he would soon miss the variation in colour. Anything darker than a certain shade became invisible to his eye, entwined with the shadows that possessed most of his vision.

A flick of Warrens wings and Scott's eyes were immediately drawn to it. Any slight movement and his eyes flickered to the source, over sensitive. He was overwhelmed, and sunk to his knees, clasping his hands in his lap as he closed his eyes, taking deep breaths. His mind needed a break from cataloguing all he had missed.

The smile on the men's faces softened, and they quietly left the room, giving Scott time to adjust. Jean faltered, torn between giving him space and comforting him. Despite her mind yelling at her to go, she stayed. Watching him fold like that, the awe on his face as he first opened his eyes, the fear before he did…. Something about him hit somewhere unidentifiable inside her, but she didn't pity him. She didn't know why, but she didn't pity him, only sympathised.

Scott was dimly aware of her presence. He tried to regain control, hating to show weakness, but found he couldn't. Her hand came to rest on his shoulder reassuringly. She remained quiet as he fought his emotions, and he was grateful. One final deep breath and he looked at her, the first genuine smile she had seen gracing his face, and she returned it.

He got up from his crouched position and reached down a hand to her where she knelt on the floor. She knew he needed the gesture to prove he had regained control, and she didn't deny him it.

"The Professor has a celebratory dinner prepared in the dining room. He says it will be ready any minute now," Jean's eyes had half closed as she listened to the Professor in her thoughts. Scott realised again he was staring at her and ripped his gaze away, imagining he could hear the tear, like Velcro. They ascended to the next level before he replied.

"I-I'm going to go outside for a minute, if that's okay. I w-want," he cleared his throat, "I want to see something."

"Alright," she reached over and squeezed his hand, shocking herself with the gesture. "See you in a few." She briskly walked down the hall, hoping Scott hadn't seen the reddening of her cheeks. Scott meanwhile stared at his hand where it still tingled. That was the first moment of affection he had felt in a long time, and he burned it in his memory.

Scott continued down the hall, turning this way and that, before reaching the main doors, pushing them open, where he was overwhelmed once again.

* * *

It was a good fifteen minutes before Scott found his way to the dining room, but no one could begrudge him that. The Professor waved away his apologies as the first course was served.

The large grandfather clock in the hallway had just struck eight O'clock when Jean announced she had rented movies. Two nights ago Scott and herself had discussed movies, and he wasn't too surprised to discover she had brought some of his favourites, as well as a few she thought he would like (being out of the movie loop for sometime now). The Professor excused himself, despite their pleas for him to stay. He merely smiled and said he had business to attend to.

As Scott, Warren and Jean sat on the couch, Scott got his first glimpse of Jean's powers. He watched the DVD rise from its case, then float over to the opened mouth of the DVD player. Hank lounged in the arm chair, feet dangling over the rest as he munched on a box of Pringles. It was the most congenial evening of Scott's life.

Half-way through the first movie (let's say _Serenity_) Hank got up and left, having to return to a research project due the following morning. He gave the empty Pringle box to Warren before he sauntered out, ignoring the glare thrown his way.

Scott began explaining all the intricacies of the plot and its references to Japanese mythology to Jean when the second movie was put in (_X_, an anime movie). Warren lost the plot quickly and left to go bother Hank - apparently a favourite past time of his.

A bowl of popcorn, two packets of Peanut M'n'Ms, and a carton of orange juice later the credits began to roll, the time on the DVD player reading 01:17.

"Tired?" Jean glanced over to where Scott was sprawled on the opposite end of the couch.

"Negative. Thou?" He stretched his arms over his head, cracked his shoulders and neck.

"No. Want to see what's on TV?" He raised his eyebrows, go-on-then. Jean picked up the remote and flicked through channels before coming to rest on an X-Files marathon.

"Whoa, hold up," Scott raised his hand, but she had already gleaned it off his mind. He quirked an eyebrow at her.

"I only grazed the surface. It's not counted as reading."

"Uh-huh. If you want something else on…"

"No, this is fine. I haven't seen too many episodes."

"I've seen all but the final series. I went blind before it aired." his smile had reverted back to that strange half-smirk he had before, as he settled back to watch the show. After a few minutes of silence, Scott began to squirm. "Damn, it's that season two episode, _Duane Barry._"

"You don't like it?" Jean was enjoying it, herself.

"I-I like it, but I'm not going to sleep tonight." A pause. "I mean this morning." Jean smiled over at him. "When I was a kid I was terrified of alien abduction. Hey, don't laugh. My cousins made me watch this film where they actually showed aliens vivisect their abductees. Scared the hell out of me."

"Scott, no offence, but what makes you think you're interesting enough to abduct?" A can of soda came floating into the room. "Did you want one?"

"No, thanks. I'm aware of that logic, but it doesn't stop the fear." Jean laughed.

"You're aware of the logic? Have you ever read Isaac Asimov?"

"Yeah, I know he has this thing about aliens not being able to reach this solar system, but he's basing that on human logic. It may not apply to another sentient species. I prefer to go with the way Orson Scott Card put things." Jean just continued to laugh into her soda.

Hank poked his head into the sitting room a little after half seven and found Jean asleep, Scott still watching the television. He chuckled to himself, startling Scott when he cleared his throat.

"I know everything must be knew and wonderful with your long-lost sight, but you must sleep sometime. Science dictates it."

"Huh? Oh, sorry. There's a marathon on TV, this is the last episode. I'm afraid she couldn't stomach it." Jean was just beginning to rouse, and she nudged Scott with her foot in a futile attempt at a kick. "I think I bored her to sleep with all my conspiracies. I was just getting to the Stargate conspiracy when she wiped out. Ow!" This time she succeeded in kicking him in the ribs, noting his flinch. She skimmed his mind, and was relieved to find he didn't flinch because of her, only to frown when she discovered it was reflex. Something ingrained.

Scott, however, wasn't paying any attention to the look she gave him, not registering the strange sensation that briefly passed over his mind. He had returned to the X-Files, Hank deciding to join in.

Jean thought back to the medical the Professor and Hank had given Scott. Aspiring to be a doctor, Jean had observed them quietly, helping only to pass an instrument here and there. Scott's X-ray had shown numerous healed fractures and breaks, some of the bones not correctly knit together. Particularly his right shoulder. Though not clearly visible - according to Scott, which Jean inferred meant it had occurred before the manifestation of his powers - if his shoulder was rotated or hit in a certain way, it caused blinding pain as the bone jarred muscle. He failed to mention how he received the injury, Hank and Jean's questions silenced telepathically by the Professor. Scott pretended to be oblivious, though Jean noticed the slight tensing of his back. When he was asked to remove his shirt, Jean was dismissed from the medical bay.

_Everyone, report to the Danger room immediately._

Scott's head shot up from where he had rested it on his arm, not immediately realising the voice had come from inside his head. When he did, the first thing he felt was _violated. _He tried to shake himself of those kind of thoughts, knowing this was as natural to the Professor as breathing. The others rose and headed for the door. Taking their lead, Scott followed them back to the Danger room.

This time when he entered the room, everything was different. Instead of the almost entirely blank walls and computer monitors, there were random obstacles littered around the room.

_Don't worry, Scott. This is all -_

Scott tensed all over, his dislike of being spoken to mind-to-mind reaching a peak. He found if he concentrated he could block the voice from his mind. He wasn't surprised.

Scott's mother had been telepathic. Though no where nearly as powerful as Charles Xavier, she had ensured her children could develop mental walls. Something Scott had found immensely useful, due to her psychological condition. It made him feel a strange sense of regret whenever he witnessed the Professor or Jean using their powers. He was aware that theirs probably came with a price, as well, but they had made it through.

"This is all just a simulation." Xavier stared intently at Scott, trying to probe his mind. Apart from the most immediate layer, he found he could go no further. "How are you blocking my mind, Scott?" The others turned to look at Scott, having not been aware that anything had happened. Scott remained uncommunicative.

"Scott, I won't read your mind. I find communicating telepathically easier, and also more effective in an emergency. I give you my word I will not pry into your mind."

"You already tried," though his voice was quiet, there was underlying emotions of fear and anger. Only the telepaths in the room felt it, but they didn't understand it. An indefinable emotion flickered across Xavier's face.

"Alright. You are dismissed from this lesson, as I'm afraid much of it will be _mind-to-mind._ Mathematics will begin at nine thirty."

Not quite sure what had happened, Scott turned and left the room.

_Author's Note:_ Sorry for the delay. The website wouldn't upload my document. Thank you for reading.


	4. Chapter 4

_Author's Note:_ Thank you to CykePhoenixSummers, Wen1, Nozomi and Hotaru and Subakun-sensei for your reviews.

_Disclaimer:_ All recognisable characters are the property of Marvel Comics and Fox Entertainment. No plagiarism is intended.

Chapter Four;

A quiet knock on the door, three taps.

"Enter."

Scott had been sitting cross-legged on the floor of his room for little over an hour now. Conflicting emotions struggled for footing in his tired mind. Part of him felt guilty. He was grateful to the Professor for taking him in off the street, returning his eyesight, countless other things…. He felt he owed him a debt he could never repay. But he couldn't stand the thought of someone being in his mind like that, not after last time….

Wait. What if he had ruined everything now by shutting the Professor out? He didn't think Xavier was the type, but he had been proven wrong in the past.

"The Professor wants to see you later. What was that all about?" Jean came in and sat beside him. Warren stood leaning against the door frame, shirtless, showing his wings spanning behind him.

"It's not important," Scott drew his knees up to his chest, resting his forehead against them as his arms wrapped tightly. It was easier to deal with people if you couldn't see them, present as little as possible of yourself as possible to target.

"I've never seen the Professor look like that. He was pissed," Warren spoke with an air of amusement. Jean shot him a look, which he answered with a raise of his eyebrow.

"Go away," Scott mumbled quietly, adding "please." One couldn't forget their manners, no matter what they were feeling. Scott needed some more time by himself to crush the feelings inside him, returning to the familiar numbness he knew so well. Emotion bad, can and will be used to suit another's purpose. _Did someone tell me that? Or did I make it up? It's not important._

Warren pushed himself off the door frame and left, Jean staying a moment longer, before she too got up. Just before she left the room she paused, eyes half-lidded.

"The Professor wants to see you, now." With that, she left.

Scott remained as he was for a further six minutes before deciding he could deal with the older man.

He had been sitting in front of the Professor for the best part of ten minutes now, and still the other man had not spoken. Scott hated to speak first, so he waited in silence.

"I do not have time to discuss this properly with you now, and I'm sure you have your reasons," despite his words, his tone had a harsh underlying emotion. "I will not contact you telepathically unless there is an emergency, sounds fair?"

"Uh, yes. Listen, Professor, I-"

"I don't want to hear it, Scott. As I said, I don't have time right now. We will delve more fully into this issue at a later date. You are dismissed."

Feeling like he had missed something yet again, Scott left and began to return to his room, before deciding to apologise first to Jean and Warren.

The following day Charles Xavier had disappeared, saying only that he was going away for 'business purposes', and leaving Hank in charge.

* * *

A few nights ago Jean had gone down stairs for a drink only to find she was not the only person awake at the ungodly hour. Scott sat at the counter nursing a glass of milk, head bent in such a way that his hair fell in front of his eyes. She found it strange when any attempts at conversation had elicited nothing more than a 'nyeh' from her late night companion. She ended up waiting for the kettle to boil in silence until he seemed to come to a little and looked up at her. He apologised, words slightly slower than usual, and explained he had very low blood pressure, and having just got up from - a brief- sleep, he was virtually incoherent and incognizant. She tried again at conversation with him, and though finding him a little confused at times, he seemed more open, probably not knowing the difference between what he spoke aloud and what was in his head. Though it only lasted as long as it took for them to finish their respective drinks, she had found more about him in those few minutes on a personal level than in the month prior. Namely, he was afraid of the dark and the sound of rain scared him to the point where he couldn't sleep. It would take a long time to find out why.

Jean again came down the stairs to find him up.

"Hey, what's on your mind?" Scott glanced up at her as she spoke.

"Hm? Not much. What are you doing up?" Jean had grown used to Scott side-stepping questions.

"Thirsty. Why are you wearing your shoes?" She was looking at his red converse and the jumper he was wearing,

"It's nice out. I like walking around at night. Used to do it when I lived in the city. Thought I might start doing it here, too."

"Mind if I join you?"

"Won't you be cold?"

"Hold on, I'll get something warmer," with that, she skipped up the stairs (yes,_ skipped_), Scott just staring after her in amusement.

She reappeared a few minutes later wearing a woolly cardigan far too big for her, the sleeves rolled up several times and the hem down to her knees. He thought she looked adorable.

Noticing his gaze, she said by way of explanation: "This is form my grandmother. She gets confused when it comes to sizes." He merely nodded at her.

They walked around the grounds, past the arboretum, following the hedge that surrounded the maze. They were silent as they simply took in the night sounds.

"How do you do it?" His voice was soft, contemplative.

"Do what?"

"_See_. I-I can't stop looking, seeing things. A flicker movement, a flash of colour. It's easier when watching television because the camera focuses where you look, and never remains stationary long, and the Professor doesn't exactly over decorate the mansion. But out here…. Everything is so alive, it fluctuates, keeps changing, I can't-" His voice broke off. He stopped walking and sat down on the grass.

"You can't what, Scott?" Jean sat beside him, watching him as put his face against his knees slowly, deliberately. The precision of his movements as he folded in on himself seemed to give him comfort.

"I can't- You don't know what you and Hank have done for me, giving me back my sight. I have no way to ever truly thank you for that. I just don't remember it being this hard…." He trailed off again, not knowing how to continue. It may have been slight, but he had exposed part of himself to her with out meaning to, and he grew ashamed at his weakness, afraid. He had only been off the streets and out of the system a few weeks and already he was trying to reclaim the trusting six year old boy he had let die in flames. Having lacked a real childhood, he was subconsciously trying to get part of it back, speaking to Jean like he would have his mother before she did that to herself. He was looking for comfort and reassurance, and he hated himself for that, dark thoughts leading him to believe he was using Jean to that end. _The used becomes the user._

Jean picked up on some of his thoughts, getting what she felt was the over all meaning. She knew he wasn't using her, that it was only his confused and hurt mind that had convinced him so. She placed a hand on his back, trying to overlook his flinch, as she reassured him.

"You'll get used to it again. Your mind is too aware of everything, rather than what you're really focusing on. It will take time before you can relax and see only what you were looking for."

"I wonder if that's a good or bad thing." He spoke as if to himself, and Jean chose not to comment.

Knowing it was late, and, despite the warm day, quite cold, Scott looked over at Jean, before taking both of the hands she held out to him as he helped her to her feet.

"I'm sorry. I know that's not why you came out here." His hands were deep in his pockets as they walked back to the mansion.

"Don't be. I'm honoured you shared with me."

* * *

Scott was reclining on his bed, reading a Tad Williams novel. The bedside lamp lit a small portion of the room, casting the rest in opaque shadows to Scott's occasionally wandering eyes. He had been at Xavier's for little over a month now, and he still hadn't begun to make the room his own. The book shelf had a few books he had dared to buy with Xavier's money, and Jean had insisted on bringing him shopping, dragging Warren along for the ride.

Scott heard a shuffling noise outside his bedroom door and glanced at the clock. It was a little after one in the morning. Placing his book on the bedside table, Scott slowly got up and moved to the door. The noise had stopped temporarily. Just as he turned back to bed he heard a sigh. He opened his door onto Jean's exhausted form. Before she could keel over he reached out and grabbed her arm, supporting her on the way to his bed. Sitting her down he kneeled in front of her.

"Jean, are you okay? Should I get the Professor?"

"No," her voice was shaky, unsure. Realising this, she took a deep breath to calm herself. When she spoke next, it was clearer. "No, I'm fine. Just got a little weak." Scott looked at her disbelievingly.

"Uh-huh. So collapsing outside someone's door is a regular occurrence?" He was kneeling in front of her, effectively blocking an exit. Deciding she may as well be honest - he had an uncanny ability to tell when someone was lying - she looked down at her hands.

"With my - um -with my telepathy I can't always…. Let me try again." He patiently waited for her to continue, feeling this was something she did not particularly want to share. "When my mutation first -manifested, I guess- I couldn't block anyone's thoughts. I-" She seemed about to go further when she paused, not sure if she could share what had happened to her then. She went straight to the point. "Xavier taught me to control my powers, shield other people's thoughts. But sometimes, if I go into a deep sleep, those walls he taught me to erect grow…. Less effective. It's hard to explain." Scott remained silent, understanding better than she knew. "When I dream like that my telekinesis goes into over drive, but it's still quite weak, so it wears me out. Causing my whole bedroom to shake isn't good for my system." She tried to add levity to her voice.

She jumped up from the bed suddenly, Scott rising slowly to his feet.

"What?" Scott grew perplexed at her coloured cheeks and averted gaze. _Did I do something?_

"Um, I just realised I'm in my pyjamas." She sounded thoroughly embarrassed as he, too, realised he was dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. A moment of shy silence passed between them as they waited for the other to speak. Naturally it was Jean.

"Well, um, sorry if I woke you."

"Uh, no I- I wasn't sleep." He indicated the book on his bed side table. "Do you think you'll be able to sleep?" Jean sighed.

"I generally have some trouble getting back to sleep on nights like these, so I normally just do puzzles or something."

"I see. I'm not tired, so do you - uh- want to play chess or some the like? Take your mind off things?"

"Normally, I'd say yes to chess. I just feel - I don't know- _drained_ tonight." She glanced at him, small smile playing on her lips, "I mean this _morning_."

"Should I leave you be then?" It took him a moment to realise she was in his room. She thankfully let the comment slide.

"You said you weren't tired, right? Can we play Backgammon?"

"Sure." He watched as the board came floating into his room. He continued to kneel down by his bed as he set the game up. She had taught him how to play, it being a favourite game of hers. Jean made herself comfortable, lying down on his bed with her face near his pillow.

Before the second game was through Jean was out. She had fallen asleep in the time it took for him to take his next turn. Smiling slightly, Scott packed up the game pieces. She was lying on the duvet, so he folded half of it over her, then moved to his desk, picking up his book on the way.

When Jean woke up it was bright inside the room. She looked over to find Scott with his back to her at his desk. Hearing her wake, he came over and sat with his back against the bed, leaning his head on the quilt so that he stared at the ceiling.

"Sorry I fell asleep."

"I'm getting used to it." She swatted his head with the back of her hand.

_Author's Note:_ Thank you for reading. Sorry I'm not much with dialogue.


	5. Chapter 5

_Author's Note:_ Thank you Wen1, DarkNatural and Nozomi and Hotaru for your reviews. Things finally develop somewhat of a plot next chapter. Hence the utter pointlessness of this one. I apologise for this one being so short, but time was hard to find this week.

_Disclaimer:_ All recognisable characters are the property of Marvel Comics and Fox Entertainment. No plagiarism is intended.

Chapter Five:

"Scott, do you know you're wearing one black shoe and one red? New fashion statement?" Jean smiled at him. Including Hank and Warren, they were all standing outside the cinema. Good thing they were both converse. Scott in fact hadn't known he was wearing two different shoe colours, things looking the same in shadows. Scott's room was often cast in shadows because he never opened his thick curtains. This was because he found that too much sunlight caused migraines and an increase in power, which he feared the glasses would not be able to contain.

He quirked an eyebrow at her. He was not going to admit he was colour blind. It was best just to agree. Before he could form some sort of retort, she had turned away from him. The cinema doors had opened and she was not going to wait anymore than necessary to get in. The alluring smell of popcorn called to her, the irresistible call to the wild. No one got in the way.

Hank , with his fur, had to take extra precautionary measures to avoid notice, including Jean's help in altering the thoughts of those who saw him. No one in the cinema was any the wiser. Warren's wings were strapped tightly to his back, a well fitted coat hiding the bulge. Scott received some stares, but his generally unperceivable presence masked him from any real notice. Jean was the only one who could pass for normal without any extra help.

The Professor had made it a kind of class assignment for them to go out into the town at least once every fortnight. Although he planned to bridge the gap between _Homo Sapiens_ and _Home Superior_, he was aware that the time was not yet right, and invoked anonymity. Although Charles had been gone over a week now, they felt it best to keep up the tradition.

Part way through the film - it was mediocre at best - Jean left to use the ladies room. When after fifteen minutes she hadn't returned, Scott grew worried. Rising form his seat, he went out to the lobby, where he found her conversing with the ticket seller, a girl who looked to be her own age. Looking up, Jean noticed him just as he was about to slip away.

"Scott, come here. Meet Susan." Scott took a step forward and nodded at the girl, but would come no further. Susan stared at his glasses for a moment, before moving to the rest of him. "It was her birthday last week. I came out to ask her how it went." Scott didn't ask how they knew each other. He was not good with new people and really wanted to leave.

"Uh," Scott made some incoherent sounds in an attempt to speak, but ended up gesturing helplessly at Jean in the hopes that she would know what he was trying to say. She watched his hands before it clicked.

"I think he's trying to say 'Happy Birthday'," She looked over at Susan, both smiling. This just made Scott blush. "He can't talk around new people," she said by way of explanation. He raised his hand in a half-hearted wave, turned, and hurriedly returned to the darkened screen room.

Jean followed a few minutes later, nudging him conspiratorially.

"I think she likes you," Scott jumped, causing Jean to laugh during a serious moment of the film, earning her a few glares. She sunk down in her seat.

As they made their way out of the cinema a breeze began to pick up. The night was now pitch black, no moon in sight. A pointless observation , in sight of the fact of light pollution. They huddled in the corner of the alleyway as they waited for their ride home.

"Hey, any one got my mom's number?" Warren had recently purchased a new phone, and he had yet to put all his contacts in it.

"I have," Scott quipped, face blank. Only Jean got it at first, and it took Hank a moment more, then he , too, was laughing. Warren scrunched up his eyes at Scott.

"Walked straight into that one, didn't I?" He turned and walked away as the person he was ringing answered.

"That is the last time I watch a film with you two," Hank had slung an arm around Jean's shoulders, attempting to over balance her. He released her as she tumbled forward, regaining her footing at the last moment. "The whole film had you two to criticise it and break it apart. Haven't you ever heard the saying ''leave your brain outside the door?"

"Is it really a saying if you're the only one who says it?" Jean looked at Hank, who had moved to try and distract Warren. How such a highly intelligent man could get such pleasure from childish antics was still a mystery to Jean. She turned back to Scott, who had that look he gets when he was about to say something completely random. As always, he didn't disappoint.

"We should be a crime fighting duo. You with your powers to mock and criticise, me with my punching-holes in plot lines. I'm afraid I lack your wit." He gave her a small bow in acknowledgement of her greater power. Jean was staring at him now. She thought back to an earlier conversation.

"Would you still have the powers of electricity and fire?"

"Of course," Hank was now wrestling the cell phone out of Warrens hands.

"I thought we were a crime fighting duo?"

"Fine, we're superheroes."

"I think I'll stick with wind and fire."

"Hey, what super heroine name would you pick?" Jean halted the phone's fall to the hard concrete with her telekinesis, earning her an appreciative look from the Angel.

"Captain something."

"Captain? Have a thing for Mr. America, do we?" She swatted his sleeve.

"Oh, and what would you pick?" She pulled her coat tighter around her, the wind blowing her long hair to the side, street lamp creating a halo. Scott wished he could take a picture. It was a perfect Kodak moment.

"I feel like something classic."

"Oh, like Adonis? I didn't know you thought of your self that way." He blanched.

"What? No, uh-uh." A breath "What?" Jean giggled, knowing one of the few ways to make his expression change.

"Relax, Scott. I'm playing with you. Well, going with the derogatory names theory - Beast, for instance - we could call you - Oh, I don't know - Cyclops?" Hank had given up on Warren and had come over to join in in the conversation.

"An excellent name. Although I don't see how Feathers' name is derogatory." Warren had turned his back on them and walked well out of Hank's current reach. Scott was watching Jean.

"Why do I get the feeling you thought of that before?"

" It came to me in a dream," She smiled at him.

When they returned to the mansion the Professor had returned.

_Author's Note:_ Thank you for reading.


End file.
